


it’s a sad song, but we sing it anyway

by sapphfics



Category: Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 19:23:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20452292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphfics/pseuds/sapphfics
Summary: Eurydice sends him her pay cheque.Or: Orpheus, after Eurydice.





	it’s a sad song, but we sing it anyway

Eurydice sends him her pay cheque.

Well, half of it. It’s the most she can spare, and at first he doesn’t want to accept it, because the food and bedding may be free but Persephone’s commodities aren’t.

Hermes had once told him that for some unlucky souls, hoarding Persephone’s trinkets are the only way they stay sane.

There is a note scrawled on the back. Eurydice always had the most beautiful handwriting, he could recognise it anywhere.

It says_ ‘I forgive you.’_ Orpheus reads it twenty times, thirty times, fifty times, a hundred times. Each and every word, until he commits to memory.

She might be able to forgive him, but he doesn’t think he will ever forgive himself.

Persephone comes back off the train with slightly hunched shoulders, and for the first time since he’s known her, she isn’t smiling in the sun. He thinks it’s probably because he is the first thing she sees. Even gods must feel guilt, he supposes. But at least Persephone tried. At least she spoke up for him.

Spring has come again, but it’s meaningless to him.

_You let her die,_ The Fates hum, as rhythmic and repetitive as usual. He puts his hands over his ears but doesn’t manage to block out the sound of Eurydice choking.

-:-

“It wasn’t your fault,” Hermes reminds him. He does it daily now. Orpheus never quite gets it through his head. “I’ve seen Hades trick people before. You couldn’t have known...”

“Why don’t you hate me?”

“I couldn’t ever hate you,” Hermes says. “Your mother made a lot more mistakes too, and she—“

“Please, don’t bring my mother into this. She would have hated Eurydice and you know it.”

“We don’t know that. Her biggest mistake was abandoning you,” Hermes says. “I took you in because she was my friend. You’re as good as my son, you know that. I miss hearing you sing. We all do. I think it would cheer you up, maybe.”

“I wish I were your son. I’ve got her eyes,” Orpheus says. “I look in the mirror sometimes and it’s like she’s back again.”

“Yeah,” Hermes says. “I loved Eurydice. I still do.”

“I’ll always love her,” Orpheus says. He wants to walk out without saying anything else, but he hasn’t got anything left to loose so he keeps talking. “I didn’t stop crying before my mother left. That’s what happens to people I love. I ruin it.”

-:-

Persephone doesn’t drink anymore, and in solidarity, those who still remain in the upper world don’t drink in front of her. They hide their alcohol in teacups and coffee mugs, and don’t stand too close.

Not that anyone gets that close, even these days. They haven’t forgotten how furious Hades would become should anyone but Hermes go near his wife.

They still have their parties, and Orpheus still attends them because Eurydice can’t.

He hasn’t spoken of her since he came out of the tunnel.

“I never got why my husband was so worried,” Persephone admits. “Before she had me, my mother birthed three horses and she kept me hidden away most of my life. It was either him or a robust sunflower. There aren’t many men worth sticking around for, even for goddesses.”

“Hermes told me something similar,” Orpheus replies, recalling the time Hercules had visited and he had quite enjoyed Orpheus’s company, until Hermes somberly informed him of what Hercules did to his first wife and children. Orpheus never saw him again. ”How are things...down below?”

“He let them unionise.”

“You’re serious?”

“Yeah,” Persephone says, as though she can’t quite believe it either. “Your song must have gotten him deep. It’s been better. For everyone. Zeus used to run the place before Hades took over. He only ever hired young attractive immigrant women, would get them pregnant and then fire them. At least Hades always paid them.”

“At least,” Orpheus says, like he has any semblance of respect for Hades. Only the gods can change the way things are, but they can’t bring her back.

“How did you know all those things about us?” Persephone asks. “In your song. It was like...”

“It was like I knew it all along,” Orpheus repeats the melody but he isn’t singing. He hasn’t sung since he left Hadestown alone. “Hermes told me your story all my life.”

“He was always such a gossip.” Persephone says, and then laughs and it’s slightly forced. “I’m sorry, Orpheus. For everything. She misses you terribly, but you and I both know she would want you to be happy.”

Orpheus doesn’t respond.

Orpheus wonders if he will ever tell her the real way he came up with the song; he thought only of images of Eurydice and tried his hardest not to sing her name. The sun on her shoulders in their back yard, the wind in her hair as they hiked up mountains to feel like gods, the smell of the poppy his song had produced as she clutched it in her hand. He doubts Persephone will care; even she once believed in true love. Maybe she still does.  
He doesn’t want to resent Persephone for giving him another chance. It’s her marriage, her right, and she was unhappy for so long.

Still, he can’t help but feel bile rise in his throat when he sees them looking happy together on that damn train.

How many more lives will that railroad take?

“The first one who left was Icarus,” He whispers to no one but himself. He wants to remember them all, wants to remember so he won’t feel guilty if Hades meets his end someday. “His father used to make helicopters, that’s how they escaped the bombs. They said Icarus drowned in oil. Said it was a tragic accident, that he was reaching for a light.”

Only gods get happy endings. Mortals just work and work and then they die and no one sings songs about them.

When he came back, Orpheus threw his lyre against the wall of their - his, now - empty bedroom and it cracked slightly.

He thinks of every life Hades has stolen, and picks it back up.

To his relief, it is still somehow tuned.

The last story he ever sings about is his own.


End file.
